Our lady of (dis)grace
by Alecto Perdita
Summary: Good thing Chloe's personal life is going well. Because her work life? It's a legit disaster. Maybe that's why Satan invented drinking on a weekday. [Part 3 of "Faith is half the battle", post-season 3 AU]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1/2

Chloe Decker is the department pariah twice over.

First because of Malcolm and now because of Marcus. The worst part is nobody even liked Marcus (with the ironic exception of herself for a time), but they liked the intense scrutiny of IAG even less. Internal Affairs reviewing all her past cases may be a slap in the face. But the first time she heard the whispers, the words land a low punch in her gut and bowl her over.

First "Palmetto bitch" and now this. It's something mined from the most hackneyed and basic Hollywood script, Marvel notwithstanding: "Black Widow." Either way, their message can't be clearer. Steer clear of Decker, or your career's over. Look at Espinoza. Or worse, you'll end up dead like Lieutenant Pierce.

Focus on the job, she tells herself. She may be exiled to an island of cold cases, but it's no reason to slack at her duty. Work hard and get results, her father used to say. No one can argue with results. But despite her best efforts, it's all too clear her new reputation is spreading through the ranks. Much like before Lucifer came into her life, conversation grinds to a halt as soon as she enters the room.

Perhaps it was a fool's errand to hope everything would blow over. Cops placed under the microscope always circle the wagons, especially when there's a clear line to be drawn between "them" and "us." But there's no telling how deeply Marcus sank his claws into the precinct. Or how far the corruption from his criminal organization seeped into the Holy Fraternity of Brothers in Blue. With no other outlet, the restless flow of ire naturally diverts in Chloe's way.

Tensions run high with hair-trigger tempers abound. The entire situation–hell, the entire department is a powder-keg. Only a matter of time before someone lights a spark to it. Detective Rodriguez decides to immolate himself over a few delayed lab tests. He has no right to speak to Ella like that or impugn her work ethic, which is beyond reproach thank you very much. And Chloe? She's never been one to stand aside and let bullies take potshots.

"Shut up, Decker, and mind your own fucking business," the taller detective snarls. He steps into her space, trying to use his height to intimidate her.

Chloe narrows her eyes and glares. Her ten-year-old daughter is better behaved than this so-called adult. "Gladly. As long as you remember to never speak to Ella like that again."

"Or what? You'll shoot me too? Is that why Morningstar's not around? Has the Black Widow added another to her body count?"

Hearing her new moniker pulls the rug from under her, but it's the mention of Lucifer that lays her low. All oxygen vacates the room, making it impossible to breathe. Her world blurs around the edges, whittled down to Rodriguez' smug expression and the cruel curl of his mouth. His lips move but she can't hear anything over the blood roaring in her ears. For a moment, Chloe's transported to a marbled rotunda surrounded by Marcus, his henchmen, and numerous automatic rifles poised to kill.

_Not before I kill Lucifer... But you don't have to die, Chloe. Step away from him._

Air falters in the passage of her lungs, and her head spins. She can't escape the fact she is a necessary ingredient in Marcus's deathtrap. Lucifer can die in her presence.

Gradually, Chloe returns to the present and finds a scene of mounting tension. Ella stands wedged between herself and Rodriguez, jabbing one rebuking finger in his face and shouting choice words in Spanish beyond Chloe's bare-minimum comprehension. Rodriguez responds in kind, his tone guttural, low, and threatening.

Whatever he said has Dan rocketing out of his chair and barreling their way. "Hey, Rodriguez, back off!"

Now she's really glad Lucifer's not here to pour gasoline on an already volatile situation. He also would've smote Rodriguez where he stood for daring to speak to Ella as he did, and Chloe wouldn't have objected. Much.

When Rodriguez continues in Spanish, he looks Chloe straight in the eyes as he speaks. He can say nothing good at this point. Dan's face turns deep red, and he balls his hands into white-knuckled fists. Chloe doesn't need a translator because the words "traidor" and "homicida" stand out clearly. She knows what some of her fellow officers suspect, that she was a part of Pierce's organization and killed him out of either greed or fear. She recoils, freshly horrified by the suggestion as if hearing it for the first time. But then like a dog beaten too many times, her hurt snaps its jaws, preparing to tear its abuser to pieces in retribution.

Ella, however, beats her to the punch during those few short beats of shellshock.

Literally.

"Pendejo!" She roars and slaps Rodriguez with an open palm.

A shockwave ripples through the bullpen with the three of them dead in its epicenter. Then chaos erupts. Two other officers jump Rodriguez to wrestle him back, even as he hurls "maldita perra" and other expletives at Ella. Dan catches Ella mid-dive with her arms stretched out in a clawing motion and pushes her behind him in a protective gesture.

"What the hell are you people doing?" Captain Kern emerges from his office like a dragon roused from its slumber, halting everyone in their track with his thunderous expression.

His gaze darts around the circle of near combatants, lingering a second more on Chloe until she bristles under the scrutiny. Kern is one of the old guards out of Gang and Narcotics and essentially took a pay cut to babysit homicide. Already humorless to begin with, he never shies away from the fact he's only here as a favor to someone in the top brass. He wears his uniform, rank visible on his shoulders for everyone to see, to the precinct every day. He may play no favorites, but he also has no sympathy for any of them, least of all Chloe.

"Well?" Kern folds his arms across his chest.

He's also an outsider and no one in the bullpen is eager to rat someone out even for a few brownie points. For several seconds that feel like an eternity, nobody speaks. Rodriguez throws off the two officers pinning him and shrinks back. Coward. A bright red spot has bloomed across his left cheek in testament to Ella's strength. Getting hit by a woman half his size must wound his pride so.

Without relinquishing his death glare on Rodriguez, Dan replies on all their behalves. He grits his teeth so hard that Chloe will be surprised if he doesn't require dental work afterward. "Nothing, Captain. It was all a misunderstanding. Isn't that right, Rodriguez?"

Chloe hardens her stance. If Rodriguez even thinks–

Rodriguez sweeps one beady-eyed gaze around the circle of cops, before snapping at Ella, "Get me those lab results as soon as they're in, Lopez." He stalks away without waiting for a dismissal.

"Get back to work!" commands Kern. The finality of his tone brooks no argument.

Everyone scurries back to their desks and assigned tasks. After taking one look at Ella, Chloe, with Dan hot on their heel, herds her into her lab, shuts the door, and draws the blinds. Ella stands glued to where Chloe left her, body quivering and thrumming with rage. Chloe has never seen her this angry. Not even when Charlotte died. Not even when they found out about Pierce.

"Ella, it's okay," she says soothingly. "He's gone. He'll think twice before he talks to you like that again."

Ella whips her head around and gapes at Chloe. "And what about you? I won't let him say shit like that to you, Decker! They can't really think you killed Pierce because you what? Wanted to take his place? Take his money?"

Chloe shrugs. "Thanks, but it's best not to go down that road. You'd be fighting more than Rodriguez."

Ella looks to Dan for confirmation, who shifts uncomfortably but nods in agreement. "Since when? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?" she demands.

"Since Pierce died." Dan glances at Chloe out of the corner of his eyes. It's a poor attempt to hide his show of concern. No doubt he's been hearing the whispers long before they came to her attention. "I tried to get them to stop..."

At least that's an improvement over Palmetto. But Chloe knows from experience nothing stops determined, wagging tongues. They'll stop once they either tire of her or find a new target to fixate on. Until then, she can only ride it out.

She can also quit, but she won't. She will never give those bastards the satisfaction.

"Assholes!" Ella exclaims and throws up both hands. "I should've kicked him in the cojones."

Chloe snorted at the mental image of Rodriguez bent in half and clutching his crotch. It'd serve him right.

"Next time," Ella says mostly to herself and drifts toward her computer.

Chloe shouldn't encourage her. They were all lucky this time. But she doubts anyone will be quick to mess with Ella in the future. And as for Chloe? She's always fought her own battles.

-x-x-x-

Stares follow Chloe for the rest of the day. She should be used to this by now, but every sidelong glance and hushed whisper stabs and sticks in her spine until she can pass as a pincushion. Gritting her teeth, she buries her head in the paperwork, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. No matter what she might see, her anger has reached its boiling point. When her shift is finally over, she flees the building without a backward glance.

Or like a bat out of hell, she thinks to herself in a rare bout of humor. Damn, Lucifer's rubbing off on her. Yeah, best go home, spend time with Trixie, forget this total ass of a day, and call Lucifer later. Sounds like a plan. She gets as far as relieving the babysitter and having dinner with her daughter before her doorbell rings. She answers her door to reveal her ex.

"Dan? What's wrong?"

Dan peeks over her shoulder and waves to Trixie at the island counter. "I'm here to take Trixie to see the new Marvel movie. We're also going to have a sleepover too, aren't we, pumpkin?"

"Avengers!" Trixie screams and bolts into her room for her things.

Chloe glances at her phone on the coffee table. Both its screen and the LED light are dark without any notifications. A familiar irritation, one she's well acquainted with from the early days of their separation, surfaces. "Why didn't you say something earlier? It's a school night. And didn't everyone die in the last movie?" she snaps in rapid fire.

"Only half of them died." He waves off her concern, but her growing ire digs its stubborn heels in and refuses to be dismissed. "She laughed when Gamora died. Said she should have kicked Thanos' ass because Maze would have. Trixie'll be fine."

Chloe pinches the bridge of her nose. "Dan–"

"Go with it, Chlo. Look, I'm doing someone a favor and I get to spend time with my daughter."

"What? A favor? For who?" she asks with growing alarm. Surely, not for Lucifer. She doesn't think either man have spoken to one another since the Incident.

Her interrogation is cut short by Trixie racing to the door. The expectant look on her daughter's face cools Chloe's anger into annoyance. When Trixie flashes her well-practiced puppy dog eyes and needling "please," Chloe caves. Trixie's schoolbag is packed with homework, an appropriate change of clothes, and her karate gi for tomorrow's class. She had been in her room for less than five minutes, meaning she had packed well before Dan's arrival. Whoever was responsible had conspired with her ex-husband and daughter behind her back.

Who? Why?

Before Dan shuts the door, he stares pointedly at Chloe. "Have fun tonight."

Left to her own devices, Chloe is adrift. She clears the counter, puts the dishes into the dishwasher, and picks up around the living room. Every so often she looks at her phone, waiting for that green light that'll indicate a waiting message or the screen to light with a new call. She picks up the phone several minutes later and considers making the call herself. But to whom? Unable to decide one way or another, she chucks her phone on the sofa. It bounces twice on the cushion.

A series of knocks pounds on her front door, causing her to jump. Now she's fairly certain she can eliminate Lucifer as a suspect. He almost never knocks, preferring to make himself at home without any announcement. As she approaches the door, she can hear several female voices conversing on the other side. It's Maze, Ella, and Linda. Chloe blinks and then gawks at them.

"Yo, Decker," Maze stomps into the apartment without an invitation.

When Chloe steps aside, Ella and Linda echo the greeting and shuffle inside. Ella has traded her jeans and t-shirt with brightly colored drawings for a sequined tank-top and leather jacket. Linda dons a skirt a smidgen too short for professional purposes. And Maze? As usual, Maze favors more skin than clothing.

Dan's last words come to mind. Now they sound more like a warning than encouragement. "What are you guys up to?"

The three of them exchange a look before responding in unison, "Tribe night."

"It's a Thursday night," Chloe points out dryly.

Ella huffs. "Thursday Smhursday."

"Ellen's right. Thursday's just as good as any day to drink." Maze says blandly while picking at her nails.

"What they mean to say," Linda butts in with a stern expression. "Is that you experienced an extremely toxic situation at your workplace today. It'd be beneficial to both you and Ella to have your own safe space for the night. We can vent or talk about whatever you want."

"I'm here to drink and fight anyone who wants to start trouble," Maze deadpans.

Chloe sighs. "You guys arranged for Dan to take Trixie for the night."

"That was between Lopez and Espinoza. I gave Trixie the heads up and roped in Linda."

"You're talking with Trixie again." The news warms her heart. Maybe her daughter and the demon are patching up their relationship at long last.

Maze shrugs nonchalantly, but the casual gesture doesn't fool Chloe or Linda, judging by the therapist's tiny grin. "We're texting. Now let's get this shitshow on the road. Decker, upstairs. You are not going out in _that_."

Chloe looks down at the day's outfit, a high-necked blouse and pressed pants. She had yet to change out what she wore into work. Before she can protest, the three women herd her into her bedroom with what can only be described as unholy glee. But given the present company, what more can she expect?

-x-x-x-

Miracles of miracles, they return to the tiki bar of first Tribe Night fame and aren't immediately thrown out. But they receive their fair share of dirty looks, so it's clear the staff still remembers them. Maze orders a drink on Chloe's behalf, a Mai Tai she shoves into Chloe's reluctant hands. When the other option is a lap full of rum, it's better to go along with whatever Maze's planned. Well, except for that slinky dress she tried to force Chloe into. Even if it did look amazing combined with the pair of thigh-high boots Ella dug out of the back of her closet. Thanks to Linda, Chloe escaped the ordeal in skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder top with bell sleeves, hair hanging loose and ends curled over her bare shoulders.

Drinks in hand, they stake out their place at an open high top.

"Okay, Ellen, rumor has it you decked a guy at the station." Maze demands.

"I didn't punch anyone!" Ella protests. Then she quietly muttered into her tall-glassed Zombie. "Just slapped him. Ya know, a little."

"Well, don't skimp on the details!"

Rodriguez is a recent transfer into homicide, arriving near the tail end of Chloe's engagement to Marcus. Even from day one, Chloe had pegged him as "rude." Turns out he had been talking down to all the forensic techs, Ella included, for weeks. He constantly demanded priority for his cases and lost his temper when results didn't support his conclusions. According to Ella, Rodriguez's a nightmare to work with.

"You should've decked him sooner." Maze stirs her straw in a lazy circle. Which is pretty tame as far as Maze advice goes.

To Chloe's surprise, Linda nods in agreement. "What? I'm off the clock. This man sounds like a bully, and sometimes a swift kick in the groin is the only message that gets through their thick skulls."

Maze cast an admiring look at the therapist. "Speaking from experience, huh?"

Linda smirks, bringing her electric blue cocktail to her lips. "I can neither confirm or deny."

"I have cousins like that. Machismo at its finest. Still, I gotta count myself lucky. Kern could have written me up..." Ella winces, unable to complete the thought.

The mention of paperwork has Chloe perking up with a thought. "HR! You should file an HR complaint. If Rodriguez has beef with as many people as you said, enough complaints might get him censured. Dan and I would both back up your claims."

"Forget HR!" Maze leans into Ella's space, smiling like a shark. It's a wonder her knives don't also make an appearance. "Point him out the next time I bring a bounty into the station. I'll set him straight."

"Aw, thanks! That's so sweet, Maze!" Ella throws her arms around the other woman and wrestles her into a bear hug.

Maze freezes up, shooting both Chloe and Linda a look that screams "make her stop." Instead, Chloe and Linda howl in laughter and clink their glasses together. After another minute of hugging, Maze glares and mimes a throat-slitting action over the top of Ella's head. Chloe rolls her eyes in response. But Linda finally takes pity on Maze, distracting Ella with a question while extracting Maze from the other woman's death grip.

Chloe sips her Mai Tai, letting her mind wander. She drifts idly from thought to though, starting with if Trixie's having fun on her impromptu movie night to her current cold case to whether Rodriguez will let sleeping dogs lie. Chloe can try to force the issue, but she has so little standing in the department. She's nearing the seven-week mark of being benched with no end in sight. Bile rises in her throat. Are the higher-ups trying to force her resignation through sidelining her? They can't. They wouldn't dare. Except they would, and it wouldn't be the first time.

A snap yanks her from her dark reverie. Ella, wearing a full-bodied frown, lowers her hand from Chloe's face. "Earth to Decker. What's eating at you?"

Chloe shakes her head to clear the cobwebs collecting in her headspace. Maybe she should have eaten more than a few mouthfuls of dinner, but the day's events left her with little appetite. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

"You're not still thinking about Rodriguez said to you, are you? Cuz it's a load of crap. That asshole doesn't know the first thing about you!"

It'd be one thing if it's only Rodriguez. Rodriguez is new. He knows and has seen little of Chloe or her work. But Rodriguez is not alone in his suspicions. Those hostile to her during the Palmetto Incident were as quick to turn on her, but even they don't come as a surprise. The deepest cuts are inflicted by those she thought knew better: the desk sergeant who now ignores her every time she passes, Officer Chow who used to ask after Trixie and share stories about her own son...

"Really, Ella. It's nothing I haven't heard before."

Not knowing how much Ella had heard through the grapevines, Chloe launches into a detailed explanation of the Palmetto case and what happened after Malcolm "awoke" from his coma. Every so often, she finds herself leaving off Lucifer/celestial-adjacent details she's learned since. Judging the measured look Linda gives her, the therapist has caught onto her editing. Maze drinks and flirts with several of the bartenders and other patrons, only interrupting with a few well-timed quips about Dan's involvement (those still sting) or Hell. Both Linda and Ella listen closely, enraptured by her tale and outraged by her treatment.

"Okay, but that still doesn't excuse the bullcrap they're saying now!" Ella bangs her fists on the bar.

Linda's eyes widen in horror. "It gets worse?"

Ella nods grimly.

Chloe is mildly impressed by how quickly Ella has come to grips with the current rumor mill, despite how oblivious she had been prior to today. As Ella recounts the new litany of sin attributed to her, Chloe sinks in her seat and takes deep gulps of her cocktail until only amber dregs and a cherry linger at the bottom of her glass. Anger and an unwarranted sense of shame burn hot in the back of her throat. The first she can abide by. The first she draws power from as a backup generator when the stares and whispers drain her otherwise. But the second diminishes her, chipping slowly at her armor until she's fatally exposed. She wants nothing more than to silence that traitorous little voice. Her hands move automatically, flagging down a bartender for another cocktail.

"This is the very definition of a toxic work environment!" Linda bellows at the end of Ella's explanation. "What the hell is your boss doing?"

"Considering their last boss was a literal crime boss, don't think they should depend on the authorities to set shit right." Maze drawls dryly.

Perhaps it's inevitable that the conversation turns to the root cause of their present problem: Marcus Pierce. Fucking Cain. To this day, his very name fills Chloe with a stinging betrayal second only to the loathing boiling her blood. Because every time she turns over one of their past interactions in her head, she uncovers a new angle to view his manipulation: from the way he undermined her with seemingly offhand comments to how he sometimes herded her along with all the grace of a bulldozer. Until there's not a single, so-called affectionate moment left to take at face value. Rendered mute, she clutches her drink tighter, struggling to not throw it.

Lubricated by rum and tequila, venom spills from Ella's lips with surprising ease. "It's all that bastard's fault. It's bad enough he was this evil criminal mastermind. But he killed Charlotte and turned you into the station outcast. Pierce has a lot to answer for."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Hell's taking care of him." A feral light shines in Maze's eyes.

"Good." Ella tucks her crucifix pendant under her shirt with trembling hands. "He deserves to burn."

Chloe catches herself mirroring the other woman, reaching for her bullet necklace and nodding along.

"Why, Ellen," Maze purrs. "I never knew you had it in you."

"Best not underestimate me then."

"I'll toast to that!" Linda raises her glass.

Chloe sloshes her cocktail to Linda's. "Hear hear!"

One drink flows into the next. They toast to Charlotte's memory and curse Cain to damnation for eternity. Chloe swears at her colleagues, fair-weathered at the best and two-faced when there's someone to kick while they're down. Screw them. She doesn't need their approval. They don't get to judge her for success or failings. She does the work because she wants to and does make a difference. They don't know what hard choices were dumped at her feet, catching her between angels and demons and immortal psychopaths.

When Chloe finally runs out of steam, sagging into her chair, Ella queues them up for the karaoke machine. Something about channeling their anger in a productive manner. Linda is quick to agree. The song Ella has chosen is one Chloe recalls fondly from her days before entering the police academy. She throws her chair back to join her friends on stage for Christina Aguilera's quintessential girl-power ballad.

"So what do we do girls?" Linda holds her microphone close and croons. "Shout out loud..."

Ella slides into the call and response, pumping both fists into the air. "Lettin 'em know we're gonna stand our ground!"

"So lift your hands high and wave 'em proud. Take a deep break and say it out loud. Never can, never will, can't hold us down!" Maze and Chloe join in to finish the chorus.

Sweat beads down the side of Chloe's face, her chest heaving to catch her breath. Her heart pounds in her ear, wild and victorious. It doesn't happen, but that tiny part of her that craves the limelight and validation, nurtured during her early acting days, basks in the rousing round of applause. "Thank you, LA!"

Chloe retrieves her cocktail from where she set it on the stage floor. Together, the four of them stumble off the stage and back to their bar stools.

Ella's already staring longingly at the karaoke machine again. "Think we should do_ Dangerous Woman _next? Oh! Oh! No, I know. _Bad Girls_!"

"I don't think I know either of those." Chloe scrunches her nose in deep thought.

Linda nods slowly in agreement, sagging against the bar. "Me neither."

Ella's jaw drop. "Seriously?! _Bad Girls_? MIA! Live fast, die young! Bad girls do it well!"

Chloe shakes her head. She hasn't kept up-to-date on pop music since her teen years.

"You two are hopeless," Maze sneers.

"Shut it," Chloe snarks back. "You've only been here what? Seven years?"

"Yeah, so? I didn't spend 'em living under a rock. You gotta live it up, Decker."

"But you still love us, Mazie!" Linda swings her entire body like a baseball bat and throws herself at Maze. Chloe half-expects the demon to drop Linda, but Maze hefts the other woman back into her chair before pulling the stool close.

"Uh, wow," Ella giggles. "The doctor is sloshed."

Linda turns her wide-eyed stare, almost bug-eyed under her glasses, on Ella. "You would too if you've seen half what I have. Angels and demons and getting fried by the Goddess of all creation."

"Don't worry, Linda. No one's going to hurt you again. I won't let them." Maze swings a possessive arm around the doctor's shoulder.

"Yeah, I know. Twelve people and four miles." Linda sighs as her head falls to the crook of Maze's neck.

_Adorable_, Ella mouths silently. Chloe can't help but agree.

"You too, Decker."

Chloe startles when Maze addresses her.

"I won't let assholes like Cain get close to you or Trixie again."

Chloe swallows past the lump in her throat. "Thanks."

"What about me?" Ella whines, leaning against Chloe's shoulder with a puppy-dog expression.

"Sure, you too, Lopez." Maze shrugs.

The more Maze pretends to not care, the more she actually does. She's like a kid in that way. But after everything they've been through in the past few months, Chloe vows to not take her former roommate for granted again. That Maze would extend the same protection to Ella shows how far they've all come since their first Tribe Night.

"This sounds like the sort of thing we should seal with a blood pact." Chloe chuckles. Three heads whip around to gape at her with varying degrees of horror and fascination in their eyes. Unable to resist another dig, she adds, "What? I did say next time. This is next time, right?"

When Maze stabs her freaking demon blades from _HELL _into the bar, they're told by management, in no uncertain terms, to leave and never return.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2/2

Maze saunters past the bouncer at LUX's entrance with neither a greeting nor an acknowledging glance. The rest of them scuttle after her as the line of people waiting to enter the club break into loud, jeering complaints. Maze hasn't worked at LUX in over a year, but she still acts like she runs the place. The staff doesn't bat an eye when she hops over the bar to pour a line of tequila shots.

While Maze pushes a shot glass toward each of them, Chloe checks over her shoulders. But Lucifer is nowhere in sight. Is he still hiding in his penthouse?

"Drink," the demon demands, tearing Chloe's attention from the dance floor.

Ella hefts hers into the air and shouts, "To sisterhood!"

They clink glasses and throw back their heads in unison. The vodka burns on its way down. Unlike Lucifer, Maze isn't choosy about drinking the top-shelf stuff.

"Come on, let's do this already!" Ella jeers after knocking back her shot.

Maze slams her shot glass down on the bar and draws one of her knives with a flourish. She twirls the blade in one hand, the black alloy sucking in the club lights like a black hole. Her manic grin and the bloodthirsty glee in her eyes might have been out-of-place anywhere other than the Devil's nightclub. "Okay, who's ready to do this?"

"_How _does this work?" Linda asks after a few sputtering coughs and pounding her chest. "There's four of us so..."

"Easy." Maze rests her left hand on the counter, palm facing the ceiling. "Now the rest of you put your hands on top of mine."

Leaning heavily against the bar, Chloe lays a hand over Maze's. Ella and Linda quickly pile theirs on top. Chloe giggles. When Trixie was younger, they used to play this game where'd they continually stack their hands over one another. Her happy memory is cut short by Maze raising her knife over their hands.

"Maze, no!" Linda shouts.

At the same time, Ella scrambles back and exclaims, "Whoa, down girl!"

"What? It's efficient."

"Maybe for demons," hisses Linda.

"Nope!" Ella shakes her head violently in refusal. "I volunteered as tribute for a little bloodletting. Not hand kebabs."

Maze pulls an expression of disgust. "Ugh, fine, wimps. How do you think it's done?"

"Hmm..." Ella taps her chin thoughtfully before brightening. "I know. After we're cut, we can bind our hands together with some silk or something and let all our blood soak together."

"Sounds lame."

"Hey, Maze, are blood pacts..." Chloe casts worried eyes to their left and right, but no one pays them any attention. "Are they like a hell thing?" She stage-whispers the last part, still loud enough for Linda and Ella to overhear. Which is fine. Because Linda's obviously in the know. And Ella? Ella rolls with this shit regardless.

"Uh, yeah, demons make blood pacts to cement alliances and other stuff." Maze shrugs, not exactly meeting Chloe's gaze.

Sounds formal. Meaningful. "Show me how to do it properly?"

Linda presses against Chloe from her left, her eyes wide with unbridled curiosity. The therapist, even inebriated, must have picked up on the serious undercurrent.

Maze's glee dims into something straddling caution and suspicion. "You know what you're asking for, Decker?"

"Not really, but it's important to you."

Maze studies her face for several long moments without blinking. Chloe keeps her expression open and her posture relaxed, which is easy considering the amount of alcohol swimming through her veins.

"Fine, give me your hand. And don't whine about it to me later."

Maze grasps Chloe's left hand with unexpected gentleness, the slightest pressure gripping her wrist in place. The knife slices through the air in a quicksilver blur. Chloe feels a sting and watches with fascination as blood wells from the long, straight cut across the center of her palm. Next, Maze draws her blade across one palm, deeper and languid in her action. She rests her elbow on the bartop and extends her bleeding hand like an invitation to arm wrestle. Chloe copies Maze. They clasp wet, sticky palms together, and Maze stares solemnly into Chloe's eyes.

"I, Mazikeen of the Lilim," the demon recites, her words taking on a rumbling quality not previously there. "Swear to Chloe Decker that I will not plan or act in malice against her or her blood kin."

Their mingled blood trickles down the length of Chloe's forearm. She forces her leaden tongue to move and parrot Maze's words, swapping their names in the appropriate places. As soon as the last syllable leaves her lips, she swears a starburst of heat flared between their skin. The sensation dies swiftly, leaving her palm clammy and wet in its aftermath.

Maze's eyes appear wet, glimmering in the dark. She sucks in a deep breath and drops Chloe's hand without ceremony. She brings her wrist to her mouth and licks the trail of blood clean. "That's how it's done. But there's no point in your guys repeating that mumbo jumbo to each other."

"Fucking hardcore," Ella mutters breathlessly.

At their request, Maze cuts Linda and Ella in much the same way. Leaning across the bar, Linda presses her hand and forehead to Maze's. Without hesitation, she utters the same vow Maze previously used. Maze seems all too delighted to return it.

Ella jaunts to Chloe's side and eagerly offers her bleeding hand up. "reHtay' ghottuqDaj je [1]," she proudly proclaims.

Chloe has no idea what it means but repeats it faithfully. Once finished, Ella goes straight to Maze while Linda turns Chloe's way.

The two women study each other for several beats, but Linda is the first to break the pattern, smile, and offer her hand in a handshake. "Welcome to the Celestial Insider Club. Us human members are few, but we have our hands full with this group."

Chloe bursts into laughter and takes her hand. "Well said."

Later, after they dabbed their hands clean with a mountain of napkins stolen from behind the bar, Chloe dulls the stinging pain with a mojito courtesy of Patrick. The bartender had turned a deliberate blind eye to their bloodletting shenanigans, returning to serve them only after they'd put away the weapon and made a cursory attempt to clean up. Ella then excused herself several minutes later, leaving Chloe, Linda, and Maze at the bar. Linda, now deep into her third full-sized drink (not counting all the shots they'd done) of the night, cuddles into the crook of Maze's neck. Maze sips her whiskey on the rocks with an arm slung around Linda's shoulder and wears an expression daring anyone to question her.

Chloe's mind wanders back to Lucifer, who's yet to make an appearance at his club. Her phone burns a hole in her back jean pockets, tempting her to at least text him. Ugh, she's being a worrywart for no reason. She's a grown woman, and he's an immortal being older than civilization. He's fine. He's probably upstairs. Drinking. Or doing something worse like cocaine. Alone.

"Hey, what's eating you, Decker?" Ella asks when she pops up again.

Chloe jumps in her stool. "Nothing! Nothing! I'm good."

To her right, Maze arches a skeptical eyebrow over the top of Linda's head.

"Oh god!" Linda exclaims suddenly, wrenching into an upright position and almost headbutting Maze in the process. She grabs Maze's bicep and waves her cut hand in her face. "Am I going to get hepatitis?"

Maze snorts dismissively. "I don't get human diseases."

"But _chlamydia_," she insists with an increasingly horrified expression.

Maze's only response is to throw her head back and cackle. Chloe allows the tale of Amenadiel's admittedly hilarious clinical misdiagnosis to sweep away her worries. For a short while.

-x-x-x-

The world is upside down. Scratch that, her head hangs upside down over the edge of the three bar stools she's appropriated for her makeshift bench while her loose hair brushes the floor. Her legs dangle limply over the other end. She swings them in time with the music. Gotta make sure she still can. Maze straddles the back of her chair, eyes fixed on the dance floor where Ella and Linda danced.

"Why are you still here?" Chloe asks groggily. "Go dance with Linda. I can hold your seat too." She fancies adding a fourth seat to her hoard.

"Someone's gotta keep an eye on you, Decker," Maze grouses without tearing her eyes away.

"I'm fine."

"Can you sit up?"

She considers it, but honestly, it sounds like too much work. Besides, she hanging onto Linda and Ella's seats. What if they came back and had nowhere to sit? So she flips the bird instead, causing Maze to chuckle and return the gesture.

It's late. She's not sure how late, but it must be. Lucifer should have made an appearance by now. It's his damn club. Unless he's avoiding her. Can she really blame him? Chloe's the literal Achilles' heel to his literal Devil self. He can get mowed down by a car walking next to her.

"Maze," she manages to squeak past a bout of nausea. "Am I dangerous?"

Mazikeen, demon and Hell's greatest torturer, responds without hesitation. "Course you are. The best ones usually are."

"Best what? Demons? Angels? Humans? Souls?" When she doesn't receive a response, Chloe can only assume the conversation is over. She draws her legs up and prepares to roll over and curl into a ball. Maybe then the noise and spinning will stop.

"No, people," Maze finally says.

Chloe's eyes shoot open, staring up at Maze's somber face hovering far above. Her throat clogs with all the fears she hesitates to give voice to. If she does, do they become more real? Do they take more from her if she names them? "I don't want to be dangerous," she mumbles, lost.

"Dangerous isn't always bad. Dangerous can be bad, or it can not be. You're sharp, Decker. And being dangerous means being able to hone those sharp edges to do what you have to. It makes you dangerous to your enemies. That's a good thing." Maze ends her lecture with a pleased, shark-like grin.

"I'm not sure I should be taking advice from a demon on that," Chloe retorts. "But I'm also a danger to Lucifer. I... I make him bleed."

"Uh, yeah, duh."

"I don't like that."

"He doesn't mind."

"He should!"

She scrambles to sit up, and the world spins violently. Only Maze's grounding touch against the small of her back keeps her from falling out of the chairs and cracking her head on the floor. Then she'd have a concussion and actually vomit. After several deep breaths, the world settles into a gentle rocking motion. It makes her stomach churn for a minute.

Chloe shudders and presses her forehead to the cool bar top. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want him to die."

"He comes back, remember? He's fine." There's a slight wobble to her voice suggesting Maze is not as calm as she pretends to be.

"But what if he doesn't next time? What if he can't because of me?" The panic sets in as a vice grip around her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs. What will she do if he comes back to work with her? Trust is in such short supply at the precinct these days. Other than Dan and Ella, Chloe doesn't trust anyone to watch her six out on the streets. If backup is even a minute late... That difference is often all that stands between life and death in her line of work. It's not fair to subject Lucifer–no, any partner to that possibility.

Maze curses. "I'm not equipped to deal with this shit. Patrick, is Lucifer upstairs?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Patrick shouts from the other end of the bar.

"Okay, I can't believe I'm saying this, but you've had enough. I'm taking you upstairs and then you're _his _problem." Maze runs her hand up Chloe's spine and grabs the back of her collar, dragging her to her feet like a kitten being carted by the scruff of its neck. Together, they weave through LUX's crowd in a bad imitation of a three-legged race. Maze is strong. Probably not as strong as Lucifer, but she bears the brunt of Chloe's dead weight easily.

Chloe's nausea lessens as soon as the elevator doors shut, muffling the music and noise emanating from the club. She pushes away from Maze and leans against the soft, back-lit wall. The invisible bands crushing her chest start to ease up. Chloe gulps down several greedy breaths of cool, filtered air. Sweat has soaked through the back of her shirt. The penthouse, with its quiet and AC, sounds like a better and better idea by the second. Popping one bleary eye open, she smiles. "You're a good friend, Maze."

"No, we're," Maze hisses an ear-splitting sound, all harsh consonants and twisted sibilance at once. It almost sounds like the Klingon Ella occasionally spouts, but those words never sent shivers down Chloe's spine. "Now."

"What?"

She repeats the word. It's even more dissonant the second time around. "It's in the demonic language. When demons make blood pacts, they become... I guess 'pack' is one translation."

"Or tribe," Chloe suggests with a widening grin.

The demon returns the smile, manic but happy.

The elevator dings, announcing their arrival. All humor flees Maze's form right before the doors open. Never one to back down from a fight or challenge, she balls her fist and marches straight into Lucifer's penthouse. Chloe scrambles to follow, suddenly realizing she has no idea how their last conversation had gone. Neither Maze nor Lucifer has broached the subject with her.

Lucifer rises from his seat at the sofa, turning down a leather-bound book on the armrest. For a split second, rage flashes across his face, accompanied by a glimpse of hellfire in his eyes. But he sweeps it under a placid mask and greets indulgently, "Mazikeen, why are you here?"

He hasn't noticed Chloe yet, so hyper-focused on Maze and maybe the possibility of a surprise attack.

Maze reaches back, takes Chloe by the arm and shoulder, and pushes her in Lucifer's direction. It's not a forceful shove. Hell, it's equivalent to a nudge in Maze's book. Just enough momentum passed between the two women to urge Chloe to close the distance with the Devil. He receives her with sure hands and a mostly steady embrace.

It's nice. Chloe buries her face in his firm though shirt-clad chest.

Which is less nice. The shirt that is. Maybe she can convince him to take it off.

"Hey," she greets without removing her face from his torso. Instead, she winds her arms around him and anchors her hands into the back of his shirt.

"Girls' night out's a smashing success I take it?"

It's unclear if his question is directed to her or Maze. Chloe hums contently either way and nuzzles his sternum. Jeez, why the hell is he so tense?

He continues. "Or maybe a tad too well. Come on, Detective. Let's get you off your feet."

Lucifer half-carries her to the sofa and deposits her in the center. The supple leather is a cool balm against her exposed skin. She moans in appreciation, releasing him to burrow further into the sensation.

"Detective!" The growing alarm in his voice forces her to look up. He picks at the front of his shirt, where the snow white fabric had acquired a new red stain.

Shit! She's been in his home for less than a minute and he's already bleeding. Then the dull ache in her left hand pierces through her foggy terror. She unclenches her fist to discover she's reopened her wound. The open cut across her palm and the bead of blood collecting in the cradle of her lifeline catches in the penthouse's low, muted lighting.

She's bleeding, not him. She's bleeding, not him. She lets the pain wash over her. Lets it soothe her fears and clarify her mind.

Lucifer stiffens into a razor-sharp line, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. He crosses the room in a flash to tower over Maze. "What did you do?" he hisses.

Rather than retreat, Maze steps forward until she's chest-to-chest with Lucifer. "It means she and Trixie are mine."

Chloe swears the temperature jumped several degrees. A vision of two dueling cobras, rearing up to bear their fangs and splay their hoods, assaults her. Threat displays: she recalls from the nature documentaries she's watched with Trixie. Except this is the Devil and his once-favored torturer.

She struggles to disentangle herself from the couch, smearing another thin streak of blood across a leather cushion, and stands. Wobbling on her feet, she staggers over to Lucifer, who automatically plants an arm around her waist to steady her. She beams a grateful smile and offers up her other unblemished hand. He tilts his head quizzically to the side, suddenly more lizard than serpent-like.

"We can make one too." When faced with his continued confusion, she clarifies, "A blood pact."

Lucifer's jaw drops.

Maze cackles. With the three of them standing so close together, the sound rumbles pleasantly down Chloe's spine. The bold sound of her laugh helps chase away the last of Chloe's dread.

"Nice try, Decker. But it wouldn't mean the same to him." She shakes her head.

"Oh..." Disappointment curdles in her stomach and she lowers her hands to her side. But Maze said it was a Hell thing, and well, Lucifer's the king of Hell, right?

With the potential crisis averted, Maze backs away to the elevator. "Later, losers. I'll make sure Linda and Ella get home safely."

Chloe's smile widens a bit. For once, Maze got Ella's name right. "Thanks, Maze."

But most surprising of all, Lucifer clears his throat to add, "Yes. Thank you, Maze."

The unsolicited gratitude causes Maze to pause momentarily. Then she nods, more at Chloe than at him, but it's a start. She disappears into the elevator with one last lewd waggle of her scarred eyebrow. Chloe counts herself lucky that Maze passed on her usual lewd gestures, otherwise, she might die of embarrassment. She turns back to Lucifer, who regards her with a wary air.

His gaze and concern quickly find their way back to her cut hand. "Come on, let's get that taken care of, Detective."

"'Tis a flesh wound," she scoffs with good humor.

Her reward comes in the form of his tender smile. "Be that as it may. I've lost more than enough clothing and furniture to unfortunate blood stains."

"Gross."

He takes her uninjured hand and leads her into the master bath. As Lucifer kneels down to rummage under the cabinet, Chloe boosts herself onto the marble-topped vanity. He emerges with a first aid kit. She watches as he unzips it and sets the kit on the counter. He stares at the open first-aid kit with furrowed brows. From what she can tell, it's a well-packed kit going beyond everyday need. Maybe something's missing?

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Detective, I'm not sure what to do." His face takes on that adorably confused expression that makes her heart flutter.

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. "With the first aid kit?"

"Yes, well, it's not like I have regular need of it. But Linda insisted I keep one."

Right, immortal and invulnerable except for one big, fat caveat: her. Of course, he hadn't the foggiest idea about human first aid.

She swallows and nods. "It's okay. I'll talk you through it. Start with the hydrogen peroxide."

His grip is as gentle as can be, but the hydrogen peroxide still stings like a bitch. To distract herself, she murmurs at the dark, down-turned head focused on cleaning her cut. "You weren't downstairs."

"I did my rounds earlier. When Linda warned me about your change in venue. I thought it best to minimize contact with Maze for the time being. Not that it did a lot of good." He discards the used cotton ball, pink with her blood, in the sink and douses a new one with more hydrogen peroxide.

"So you weren't hiding from everyone. Just Maze!"

"I wasn't hiding from anyone, Maze included."

She rolls her eyes. Yeah, bullshit. But it's good he's no longer isolating himself to the penthouse like when she first confronted him weeks ago. They need to keep moving forward.

Without acknowledging her eye roll, he continues, "But had I known you were doing something as dangerous as making demonic blood pacts, I would have been downstairs."

"And do what? Stop us?" She snatches her hand back to examine the cut. Under the bathroom lights, it becomes clear the wound is not deep. Maze's handiwork is straight, precise, and penetrated only far enough to draw blood without damaging nerves. Chloe should expect nothing less.

"I don't like seeing you hurt, Detective."

One of the most infuriating things about Lucifer Morningstar is the way he can drag in his eons and eons of baggage and unpack it in the middle of any conversation. Chloe wonders if this is what therapy sessions with Lucifer is like because it gives her a newfound appreciation for Linda. It's something she's only learned to recognize in recent days. And now that she knows to listen for it, she can't un-hear it. It's not about her current wound, but every bullet and every hit she's taken or will take over the course of her lifetime.

Rodriguez's taunt returns to haunt her with a vengeance. In her line of work, injuries or even death are known risks–ones she's accepted even if she struggles to make peace with the latter. But she's mortal. Death is inevitable for her. But Lucifer... Time and time again, he puts himself in the path of danger without thinking twice about how it affects the people around him. Worse yet, he does it when she's nearby, canceling out his usual invulnerability.

"You're one to talk," she snaps. "You think I enjoy you getting hurt. Or dying?"

No one should die for or because of her. It should be the other way around. She swore an oath to protect and serve. To take the hits so that her daughter and family never have to be in harm's way. So that another little girl somewhere never has to receive the news that her father had been gunned down in a senseless and meaningless corner store robbery.

"Darling..." He reaches for her hand again.

Turning away from him, she digs through the first aid kit for a large band-aid. "Thanks. I can take care of this myself."

He drops his arms to his sides and steps back. With some difficulty, she wrestles the band-aid out of its wrapper and applies it over her cut. She flexes her hand twice, hating how the adhesive pulls her skin tight. Not to mention the itching that always accompanies it. She peeks from under her eyelashes to discover the mask he dons is as smooth and blank as a piece of paper.

"I was perfectly safe."

"That's not a guarantee. Given her track record, Mazikeen should not be trusted so easily." A cold fury lays buried under his matter-of-fact delivery. Lucifer rises to his full height, a long shadow that might be menacing if she didn't know him so well. But he radiates such authority in these rare moments, she must have turned a really blind eye to not realize he is the former Lord of Hell.

"She's trying her best, Lucifer. Just like any of us." Indignation surges to the surface. When it comes to the rift between him and Maze, Lucifer is not blameless as he likes to imagine.

"She's a demon," he argues.

"And you're the Devil! So no one's perfect!"

Silence floods the cavernous bathroom, deafening in the absence of sound and suffocating in its weight. It's such a low blow that Chloe winces in retrospective. She sweeps her sweaty hair back and squeezes her eyes shut. She really needs to stop drinking past her hard limits, which are there for a reason since her _Hot Tub High School_ days. And now? Now she's actually hurt him... And after all that earlier angsting...

"I trust you'll see yourself out, Detective."

Panic wells in her, so she grabs his sleeve before he can run away. "No, Lucifer! I didn't mean it like that!"

"There's nothing to misunderstand. As you said, I am the Devil." Somehow, he tilts his head at the right angle to cast his eyes in shadow. His words are flat, nearly devoid of any emotions. Save for the slight tremor of his arm, he stands still as the grave.

"And that's fine. Just like it's fine that Maze is a demon."

He scoffs and turns his head away. "Please, Detective, you need not pretend. It was a matter of time before the reality sank in. I won't hold you to any promises you can't keep."

"No, you listen to me, you ass, and stop putting words in my mouth!" She grits her teeth and tightens her grip. "I... I care about you, Lucifer. That's not going to magically change, even when you annoy the hell out of me. You're important to me."

He falls silent, still unwilling to meet her gaze.

She squares her shoulders and sits straighter. "Fine, you don't believe me? Show me that face again."

"That face?"

Despite having made her mind, Chloe gulps. "The face you showed me at the loft _that_ day."

"You weren't meant to see any of that." The muscle in his temple twitches dangerously.

"Yeah, but I'm asking to see it now."

His head snaps forward again, gaze roving over the plains of her face. After several beats of silence, he declares with a clear note of dismissal, "You're drunk."

"No, I'm ready. So show me." She yanks on his shirt collar, and the force sends him stumbling forward two steps. He catches himself on the edge of the counter, his arms caging her on either side. The stoop of his posture brings him eye-level with her.

"You don't know what you're asking. That face... That face is a punishment for a reason," he growls. When he bumps noses with her, it's not an affectionate gesture. It's a warning. It's a predator sizing her up.

Well, two can play at that game. If a station full of hostiles don't cow her, why would she let him? "I'm not asking for excuses, Lucifer. Now stop hiding."

"You're a stubborn, obstinate creature."

Without further warning, his face dissolves into a mess of scarlet and scars. Whatever reply she'd prepared shrivels in the hollow of her throat, and the thought slips her like sand through her finger. The sight of him sucks the air from her body, leaving her lungs and heart almost oxygen-starved. His eyes shine red as blood and burns through her. When she blinks, his handsome face, well-trimmed stubble, and meticulously styled hair swim in her watery vision.

"I warned you," he says, controlled and cold.

She fists his shirt tighter in her white-knuckled grip despite everything in her hindbrain screaming at her to push him away and run for the hills. But it's Lucifer. It's always Lucifer, with the same insecurities and occasional outbursts bordering on violence. Maybe asking to see his "devil face" while intoxicated isn't her best idea. But if not now, then when? When else will she gather the courage to make this particular demand? He's not likely to share this side of himself otherwise.

"Again," she whispers. "And don't you dare change back until I tell you."

They meet each other gaze in a challenge. The long moments felt like an eternity. He can technically out-wait her, but she won't cave easily as long as she draws breath.

His head slumps forward with a shuddering breath and defeated shoulders. When he looks up, he is stripped once more of his humanity. Okay, start small, she tells herself. Glancing down at the fists gripping the counter next to her thighs, she confirms that the burned skin and scars cover his entire body. Dragging her hand from her lap, she presses her palm over his right hand. He flinches at the contact. His skin is as battered to her touch as it looks, rough and gnarled with layers of old scar tissue. Drawing her hand up the length of his arm, his muscles quiver under the fabric of his shirt. He goes stiff when she brings it to rest on his clothed shoulder.

Bringing her other hand to his face, she cups his cheek. Without a band-aid, there's nothing to muffle the direct skin-to-skin contact. She expected him to feel hot, based on his coloring alone, but he's not. If anything, he's cold and clammy to the touch. When she squints, she can make out the familiar contours of his nose and cheekbones. And his eyes, though foreign in coloring and alien in its glowing luster, retain all the essence of Lucifer's spirit. In place of the usual stars in his dark eyes, she finds the blazing tendrils of a massive solar flare spiraling into itself.

"Be not afraid," she mutters, as much for herself as for him. Her fears are echoed in Rodriguez's poison and Lucifer's blood pooling across a concrete hangar floor–in losing this Devil, scarred or otherwise.

An incredulous sound, half-scoffing and half-chortling, escapes him as she guides them into a kiss. His ravaged lips chafe against hers. How much does he feel in this form? Has the scar tissue deadened the sensations or has it made him extra sensitive to pain? Several moments later, she draws back and releases him.

"Chloe..."

Her name rolls off his tongue, thick and weighed under the gravity only he can ascribe to it. She can't not recognize the Lucifer she knows and loves when he speaks like that or looks at her like that. Gazing into the depths of his eyes, so simultaneously alien and familiar, she undoes his shirt buttons, one by one, until his torso is bared to her. She trails a gentle finger from the hollow of his throat down the center of his sternum to the top of his belly button. Her eyes drift south and she grins at his belly button, another familiar landmark in this foreign topography. Surely, she can find more like it.

She reaches for his belt. The action catches him off guard, stunning him until she works the leather free of the first pants loop. He stops her before she can yank the belt out of a second, the red of his skin contrasting starkly with her paleness.

"You don't want this," he insists, nostrils flared and lips thinned.

Her left palm aches in a dulled reminder. She flexes the hand still caught in his hold, drawing his attention as well. She doesn't allow her voice or courage to waver when she speaks. "Don't tell me what I want. What I _desire_," she adds with an ironic twist of the knife. "I make blood pacts with demons. I can kiss the Devil and more if I wanna."

His grip slackens. "Freak."

Chloe has been called many names over the years: a "whore" for exposing her breasts in a feature film; a "has-been" for abandoning acting; a "bitch" for following her instincts and refusing to back down because some man thought he knew better. They have yet to fell her. "Oh Lucifer, I've been called so much worse." She laughs, rips his belt off, and dives straight for his zipper.

The only names she wants to hear for the rest of the night is hers and his.

-x-x-x-

Sunlight stabs her eyeballs like a thousand needles. Groaning, she flops onto her back and pulls the covers over her head. One hand stretches toward the right side of the bed, only to find it cold and devoid of its usual occupant. Gingerly, she sits up and stretches her arms over her head. A low-grade pressure headache lingers in her temples, courtesy of all the drinking, but the rest of her body aches in that delightful way after a prolonged round of lovemaking. Which begs the question: where her wayward partner went?

She finds her cellphone on the nightstand. Her lock screen declares the time as half past seven and three dozen messages received since last night. Apparently, she had been added to a new group text with Ella, Linda, and Maze. The conversation starts with a few concerned but misspelled queries into Chloe's whereabouts, but ultimately dissolves into speculation littered with an abundance of eggplant emojis. She'll respond later. Wrapping the sheets around her body, she pads down the steps into his living room to find him perched on the sofa.

He drops his book, the same one from last night when she comes into view. His startled expression now is no different from the one she's seen on his Devil face. "Ah, Detective, you're awake."

A quick once-over confirms he hasn't slept all night. At least not next to her. She sweeps across the room, swathed in bedsheets and bedraggled to hell. Yet she might as well be decked out in the crown jewels of England given Lucifer's slack-jawed look. If that doesn't give a girl a major confidence boost, what will?

Lucifer retrieves his book and sets it aside. Then he stands and fiddles with his ring. "Can I get you anything? Hair of the dog, perhaps? Or a triple espresso?" He offers a wan grin.

"Are you freaking out about last night?"

He twitches ever so slightly. "And you're fine? You did see _all _of me."

She rolls her eyes. Good thing she's acquainted with his deflection long before they embarked on a romantic relationship. "Yep, imagine my surprise that there weren't horns or a tail."

Hmm, probably best to never mention that wet dream once upon a time. He'll never let her live it down.

"Detective..."

Rising onto her tiptoes, she plants a peck on his lips. She holds his gaze, now returned to their usual chocolate brown, and lays it out for him so he can't misunderstand. "I enjoyed what we did last night. I asked for all that. So no, I don't regret it. I'm not freaking out. You got that?"

After what seems an eternity, he finally nods.

She beams a smile, head held high and proud. "Good. So I need a shower before heading to work. Care to join me?"

His nervousness melts away in the proximity of anything carnal adjacent. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he sweeps a heated gaze up and down her body. No doubt mentally stripping her bare of his bedsheets. "Hmm. Yes, more paperwork and no real casework. Sounds dreadful. Sure I can't convince you to play hooky instead?"

She lands a light slap across his shoulder, grinning so wide that her face hurts. "Not today, Satan."

_-Fin-  
_Part 3 of _Faith is half the battle|  
_Continues in Part 4: _Thrice cursed, rarely blessed_


End file.
